


where all that was is gone

by honkychateaux (comorbidity)



Category: Rocketman (2019) RPF
Genre: 5 Times, M/M, Unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-22 18:51:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21081413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comorbidity/pseuds/honkychateaux
Summary: Alternatively: Five times Richard told Taron he liked him (and one time he missed his chance). Such things are easy to admit until it really matters.





	where all that was is gone

**Author's Note:**

> back at it again with something i started back in august and only just finished recently (whoops). typical caveat regarding me playing fast and loose with the process of filming a movie; please do forgive any egregious mistakes
> 
> title is from "where to now st peter?" by elton

i._ (i think i like you already) _

Richard heard his name before he could see who was hailing him, but he could recognise Dexter’s distinct gravelly voice even over the rumble of conversation in the room. Sure enough, the director soon squeezed through a nearby group of milling crewmates, a young man in tow.

"There he is," Dex said, holding his arms out to Richard and clapping him on both shoulders. "Richard, I wanted to introduce you to your co-star. Taron, Richard."

"The man of the hour," Richard greeted, reaching out to shake the other man's hand. He spent a quick moment cataloguing what he saw, though he was most struck by the expression of open awe on Taron's face. It was a look that Richard might have expected to see on your average moviegoer, not a person who had already been in several blockbuster films.

"Shit, mate, you're in one of the most popular shows... ever, I think." Taron's eyes were wide with a kind of giddy admiration that Richard usually would have found a bit mortifying, but it looked so genuine on his new castmate that he didn't feel too self-conscious.

"It was a short-lived honour," Richard replied.

"Spoilers," Taron warned, but he was grinning widely. "No, I'm only joking, I'm caught up. God, I can't believe this. Robb Stark! You were my..." Taron counted on his fingers silently for a moment. "... sixth favourite character, maybe?"

Richard couldn't help but laugh. "I appreciate the honesty. I think I like you already."

Taron's face somehow managed to shine even brighter. "This is mental."

"I'll leave you boys to it, then," Dexter said, almost giving Richard a start. He had briefly forgotten that the director was still hovering nearby. 

"Yeah, for sure." Taron gave Dex a quick wave before immediately turning back to Richard. "Sorry, usually I'd try to play it a bit more level, but this is just..." Taron exhaled through pursed lips and gestured to the space around them, which had been dedicated to a casual meet-and-greet for folks working on the movie. "It's a lot."

"You've got that right," Richard agreed. "It's gonna be a big job."

"Pressure's on," Taron said with another wide smile. "You much of a singer?"

Richard cringed. "God, not at all. They'll tune me all to hell, I'm certain. But I've heard you sing. You'll be fantastic."

"Really?" Taron's face fell into an expression of humble surprise. "Oh, well... I'll do my best, at any rate."

"Doubt it'll be the hardest part." Richard gave Taron a cheeky grin. "Given what they'll be having us do."

Taron's eyes widened comically again, and - Richard couldn't very well believe it - he seemed to be blushing. Only a little, but it was there, high on Taron's cheekbones. He gave a small, nervous laugh. "Oh god, don't I know it. You'll have to forgive me if I'm a bad kisser."

"Only if you do me the same favour." Richard was yet again struck by the peculiar humility of his co-star - _ the _ Star, with a capital S, if Richard was being honest about it. He supposed there was some comparison to be drawn between Taron and the man he would be portraying, who, despite his stage flamboyance and massive success, was said to be notably shy. Richard hadn't yet met Elton; the idea that he would have the chance to speak with one of the world's biggest music superstars still seemed a bit ludicrous.

And here Taron was, seemingly as pleased to be meeting Richard as Richard would expect to be meeting Elton John.

They stood for a moment in uncertain silence, with Richard wondering if Taron was also considering the relationship they would soon be acting out with one another. He wasn't too worried by the prospect, even if he hadn't ever had to do a full-on sex scene with another man. And Taron was good looking, which certainly didn't hurt at all.

"So..." Taron ventured. "You're in The Bodyguard too, eh?"

"Yeah," Richard said, grateful for another line of conversation, even if it felt a bit awkward to be discussing his work like he was so much more of a big deal than Taron. "Have you seen it?"

Taron looked abashed. "Well, er... no, I'll admit, but I've heard good things!"

Richard snickered, feeling a bit rude about it but unable to stop himself. "Fair enough. Truthfully I might like you even more now, knowing you haven't seen... more than you should of me."

"Not yet," Taron said in an impish tone. "Best keep it a surprise, then."

It was early yet, but Richard had a good feeling about Taron. They both had an enormous amount of pressure bearing down on them for this performance - Taron himself had some particularly large shoes to fill - and getting on with one another would make the process much easier. Richard had a sense that they might even walk out of the production as good friends. He wasn't sure why he felt so certain of the outcome, but he welcomed the notion nonetheless. Better than expecting the worst.

And he found he did like Taron already. Quite a bit.

* * *

ii._ (i knew i liked you for a reason) _

"You like the songs, then."

"'Not as much as the singer.'"

Richard heard Jamie mutter something to Taron, who responded with a muffled giggle. 

"Can to share it with the class, boys?" Richard asked, rounding on the other two seated beside him at the table.

"No sir," Jamie replied with impressive deference. Taron was biting his bottom lip, trying to stifle further laughter.

The line reading had been proceeding without incident thus far, but they had been at it for a while, and much like the gaggle of students Richard was implying them to be, the castmates were getting a bit restless. He supposed it didn't help that he was slogging through a somewhat cheesy monologue; he was struggling to say the words with any degree of earnestness when the other two were fussing about next to him.

"All right there?" Dex asked from the other side of the table. He wore an expression of paternal fondness in spite of his admonishing tone. "Shall we call it for lunch?"

"Might be a good idea," Taron said. He flipped the pages of his script closed and patted the sheaf decisively. "I'm starving."

"Ah, I was just getting warmed up," Richard lamented, though he too was grateful to take a break.

"You can practice over dinner," Jamie said. He was already on his feet and packing up his things. "If you'd like to join us, that is."

Richard glanced to Taron, who shot him a smile and a shrug of indifference.

"Well, if you don't mind my tagging along..." Richard hadn't yet spent any time with the others outside of work; understandable, as they hadn't been at it long. Still, he was curious to see if his easy chemistry with Taron would continue when they weren't in a professional setting. Jamie and Taron had clicked well, it seemed, if their horsing around during the line read was any indication.

"Course not," Taron said. "Come on then. You look like you could use a drink."

"Should I be offended?" But Richard smirked a little as he followed the others out of the room. The other two were already chattering about something or another, and Richard lagged behind, feeling a brief pang of envy that he hadn't yet shaken his own social reticence. Talking to Taron one on one had been one thing; this odd sensation of being a third wheel nagged at him.

Before long, though, Taron appeared to pick up on Richard's silence. "You alright there, Dickie?" he asked over his shoulder.

Richard groaned. "Please... under no circumstances should you ever call me that again."

"Oh, right, of course." But a naughty glint in Taron's eyes belied his assurance. "You've got it, _ Richard _."

Richard mentally gave it a week, tops, before Taron started using the wretched nickname to get under his skin. But he found he didn't mind so much. Not if it was Taron saying it. 

Jamie, on the other hand - 

"Come off it, Dickie," Jamie said. "I think it's cute."

"Have that name haunt you for a good part of your childhood, and we'll see how cute you find it," Richard retorted. He pointed an accusatory finger at Taron. "You started this."

Taron raised a hand in a plea of guilt. "My fault, you're right. Here, I'll buy you a drink. How does that sound?"

Richard made a show of considering the offer, pulling a thoughtful expression and stroking his chin. "Free booze for a bit of indignity... I'll take it. I knew I liked you for a reason."

"Just this one time," Taron said. "After that, I take no responsibility for any more indignities."

"Deal."

Taron gave him a quick smile - one that shone a bit too warmly for Richard to brush off - and returned his focus to Jamie to ask a question Richard didn't catch. Richard was back in his own world, though his silence was comfortable this time around. The envy was gone, replaced by reassurance and a certain other something he hadn't yet placed. It might have had something to do with the smile and the way it mollified him. Maybe the way it made his heart trip, if only for a split second.

Richard knew there was more than one reason he enjoyed Taron's company, but thinking about that list demanded more introspection than he was willing to input at that moment. For now he would take the free drink.

* * *

iii._ (it's one of the things i like about you) _

Richard watched with some amusement as Taron (who was still wearing a pair of the costume shades, for whatever reason) piled his plate with assorted sandwiches from the lunch table, creating a small mountain of bread triangles. "Bit hungry?" Richard asked.

"I am going to take full advantage of both free food and not having to worry about my figure for this one," Taron replied before shoving one of the sandwich pieces in his mouth. Mercifully taking care to chew and swallow it before he went on, he gestured to the catering spread. "I mean, look at all this. It's fantastic."

"Certainly can't complain, no." Richard's own plate looked more like a personal tapas selection, but it was only lunchtime and he wasn't famished quite yet. Not like Taron, anyhow, who was already working on his next sandwich as they went to find somewhere to sit.

"Do you do much cooking at home?" Richard asked.

Taron wiped at his lips with a napkin as he considered the question. "Not as much as I should. I used to cook more with Emily, but..." His voice trailed off as he shrugged. "Course, things have been a bit busy, so that's my excuse."

Richard couldn't quite get a read on the tone Taron had used for Emily's name. "Used to?"

"We split recently," Taron said. He didn't met Richard's eye as he spoke, looking down at his pile of food, maybe a bit abashed. "It's fine though. Very civil and all that. We're both just... very busy."

"Didn't mean to pry," Richard replied cautiously. He felt a momentary pang of guilt for having prodded at all into Taron's relationship history, given that they hadn't really delved into personal matters in the few weeks they had known each other. Richard wasn't one to needle into others' intimate affairs anyhow, least of all his co-stars... but Taron was, as he had been in certain other respects, a bit of an exception. In this case, Richard knew he was too curious for his own good.

_ So what you're saying is that you're single _, was the next thing on Richard's mind, but that statement would require a whole pile of explanation, both for Taron and to himself. Instead he bit his tongue.

"No no, you're fine." Taron's clouded expression seemed to clear somewhat as he looked back up. "I just don't want to bore you with all of my melodrama."

"I think you underestimate how nosy I am." That was a bit of a stretch, considering that nosiness only seemed to apply to Taron, but seeing Taron continue to relax was worth the show of interest. "You don't have to talk about all of that if you'd prefer not to, though."

"Not exactly casual lunchtime conversation," Taron replied with a small smile. The moment of tension had passed, and he had returned to being as breezy as ever. "Maybe I'll regale you another time. We can get totalled and share our deep, dark histories with one another."

Richard grinned in agreement, though he sensed he was caught somewhere between genuine academic intrigue and an investment in Taron that was a touch beyond the pale. 

"I'd like that," Richard said, hearing a certain gravitas to his voice that was probably more telling than desired. To defuse the moment, he formulated a distraction by way of grabbing one of Taron's sandwiches. "Do you mind?"

"Oy, get your own --" Taron tried to swat at Richard's hand unsuccessfully, and he only managed to hit the table as Richard took a large bite of the pilfered food.

"You're just so generous," Richard said around a mouthful of bread. "It's one of the things I like about you."

"Prick," Taron said with a pout. "You owe me a sandwich."

"You do know they're free..."

Taron looked like he was about to propose an indignant counterpoint when Jamie swooped in, clapping Taron on the back as he took a seat at their table. 

"Afternoon, lads," Jamie said. He set his plate (this one mostly drowning in salad) next to Taron's as he eyed their food choices. "Stress eating already, eh T?"

"I'm allowed," Taron announced haughtily. "If Dickie here doesn't eat it all first, anyhow."

Richard let out a low whistle. "Ouh, that's cold. I'm just trying to save you from yourself, mate."

"Can't a man eat when he's hungry?" Taron demanded. In his lamentations, he missed Jamie snatching another one of the sandwiches; Jamie met Richard's eye, and they both had to look away, holding back grins.

"Not around the peanut gallery," Jamie said, gesturing with the sandwich. "At least eat a vegetable, would you."

"There's lettuce on these." Taron pulled apart some of the bread to prove that there was, in fact, a piddling amount of greenery on his food. Only then did he noticed that Jamie was now chowing down on stolen goods. "_ Hey _ \--"

Richard smirked a little as he watched the other two bicker, but he felt something resembling aggravation at their meal having been interrupted. He had no problem with Jamie - loved him, in fact, he was a great fellow - but time alone with Taron was a rare commodity during such a big production. The idea of going out, just the two of them, seemed more appealing than ever. It would be nice to actually get to know Taron off the set and without others in tow.

That invitation would have to wait, though. For now he could deal with their group socialisation. It was still early in the filming process; there would be opportunities to bond in the future.

What manner of bonding, Richard wasn't certain quite yet. He only hoped that the time spent would help him figure it out.

* * *

vi._ (i think i like you better when) _

Richard stood transfixed before the dressing room mirror, contemplating the dyed hair that his role necessitated. Despite his naturally brunette palette, the black hair didn't seem to suit him in the least. It was about as ill-fitting as the out-of-style suit he was required to wear for most of his screen-time, and he found himself looking forward to the point at which he could sport his regular colour once more.

Of course, he knew he was fortunate compared to Taron, who had to deal with shaving and hair pieces and bald caps on top of the rest of his makeup work. When asked what was more troublesome, the fantastical and elaborate costumes or the hairstyling, Taron wouldn't hesitate before saying it was the latter. The outfits, he said, weren't glued to his scalp.

Taron was still off having his look undone by the makeup techs, while Richard had already returned to his streetwear. They had made vague plans to grab a drink after shooting, as had become their typical routine once they finished a particularly difficult scene. Accustomed as he was to more dramatic roles, Richard rarely had much trouble easing from his acted persona back into his usual self; Taron, on the other hand, had once bashfully explained that he sometimes required a bit of mental recalibration to get back to normal. Richard couldn't fault him for that, especially given how thoroughly Taron seemed to throw himself into becoming whoever he was playing.

What Richard could fault him for - at least a little bit - was how Taron somehow chose to express himself in those moods, particularly when any lingering vitriol was aimed at Richard himself. Intentional or not (though he was certain it was never on purpose), the cool attitude could sting.

Given what the pages they had worked through today, Richard was expecting Taron to be swinging on the low side. The last portion shot had involved a heated argument after the end of Elton and Reid's personal relationship, and even Richard had felt a hint of guilt for having to say such cruel, callous things to Taron's face.

(To Elton, he reminded himself. Reid said those things to Elton. Richard wasn't the one spitting venom at Taron, no matter how easy it was to fool himself into believing that Taron's expression of hurt and betrayal was, in fact, the result of what he was saying.)

(Taron just looked so _ vulnerable _.)

Richard finally tore his gaze away from his reflection when he heard the door open. He didn't have to turn to see that it was Taron stomping into the dressing room, and he felt a passing breeze as his castmate whipped off his cloak and tossed it to the side.

"Afternoon," Richard said, perhaps a touch hesitant. He glanced around to see Taron dressing himself with an agitated energy that was practically palpable in the confined space. 

Taron grunted in reply, not looking up.

"Still up for a drink?" Richard still felt as though he was tiptoeing around an emotional landmine. He could see the fretful crease in Taron's brow, hear the way he was exhaling through his nose in irritated bursts. For a moment Richard almost expected Taron to rip off his prop glasses and toss them in Richard's direction in much the same way "Elton" had lobbed the glass at Reid's departing figure.

"Give me a fucking second, would you," Taron snapped.

Richard felt the temperature in the room drop several degrees. This was what he had feared. "Easy now. We're in no rush."

"Yes, exactly," Taron replied, still with that biting tone, "so if you could let it go for a moment --"

Richard took a steadying breath. It would do neither of them any good for him to retort in kind, much as his patience was waning. They got along famously in every other circumstance, but these little episodes were always taxing. Objectively he knew Taron meant nothing by the abruptness... still, it hurt. Like Taron was legitimately upset at him for something Richard's character had said. And that wasn't very fair.

"I'll just go ahead, and you can catch up when you're ready," Richard said. "Sound good?"

Taron finally met Richard's eye, and Richard was perturbed to see a momentary glint of something resembling resentment in Taron's expression. "If you could not talk to me like I'm a kid, I'd appreciate it."

"Then stop acting like one," Richard said before he could stop himself. "You know, I think I like you better when you're not taking this mood out on me."

Taron's mouth fell open, and Richard could see the flash of resentment again, more clearly this time. But it was short lived; the spark of anger seemed to flicker and die in Taron's eyes, only to be replaced by what looked to be shame. 

"I'm sorry, mate," Taron murmured. He rubbed the heel of his hand over his forehead. "I'm acting like a fucking idiot."

"Mm." Richard felt a beat of sympathy, but his annoyance was still too great. Maybe he too was channelling a bit of the character he had just been playing as he regarded Taron with faint disappointment. "I think we ought to postpone this one, if you don't mind."

Taron looked like he was about to argue, but the chagrin took over. "I... yeah. Okay."

"I'll see you tomorrow." And Richard strode out of the room before Taron could say anything else. He feared that lingering would break him down, and there was some petty part within him that actually wanted Taron to feel some remorse for being a twat.

Because he liked Taron, dammit, and he knew Taron liked him as well. It was useless for them to spend time squabbling just because their characters were jerks to each other. Richard was sure Taron knew better, that Taron wasn't actually upset with him, but he could only do so much to take the high road every time whenever Taron left the set with an attitude.

If someone had told him a few months ago that he would be caught up in such a mess with one of his co-stars, he probably wouldn't have believed a word. Richard didn't think he had ever felt such a bizarre sense of emotional entanglement with his role and that of someone else, as though the moods and behaviours were bleeding from the set into reality. Of course he knew that neither of them were in any way in the sort of relationship they were portraying - Richard wanted to believe that he was nothing at all like Reid in particular - and yet it was still somehow more complicated than he could have anticipated.

As he made his way back to his trailer, Richard brooded over the dressing room altercation. Despite his irritation, he was disappointed that he wouldn't be hanging out with Taron after all. Ever since they had begun spending time together as friends and not just coworkers, Richard had come to truly enjoy Taron's company. He was such an exuberant spirit, full of joy and energy and an enviable sort of outward zest for most things. Richard had always been more reserved, a bit strangled by politeness and a need to be comported in any situation. Taron was like the outgoing counterbalance to Richard's own quietude. 

And Richard found that he really liked that about him.

He just wished that Taron's emotional nature wouldn't make him so susceptible to these bouts of drama even when the cameras were off. 

By the time Richard was set up in his trailer with a drink and some tunes to cut the silence, he was fully immersed in regret at not having sucked it up and mended things with Taron in the moment. It would've been better than moping about alone all night, even if Taron's mulish attitude was sometimes a challenge to dispel.

But Taron was his friend. They weren't just fairweather castmates who had no investment in the offscreen relationship. If Richard cared at all, then he had to at least try.

He had his phone and was shooting Taron a text before he could change his mind. - _ That was stupid. Still fancy a drink? _

The minutes before Richard got a response were near to agonising. He was beginning to fear that Taron would cold shoulder him for the rest of the evening when he finally heard the alert.

\- _ Thank fuck you said that. I'm so sorry mate. When/where? _

Richard let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. - _ Mine in ten? _

\- _ See you there. _

After giving his trailer a cursory glance to ensure it was suitable for company, Richard settled back into his seat and took a sip of his drink, already feeling massively better. There would probably still need to be a quick conversation about proper friendly behaviour after rough shoots, but he was much happier to address Taron directly than let the two of them stew in their mutual distress for too long.

Richard liked Taron too much to let that happen.

Closing his eyes, Richard threw caution to the wind and finished his drink. He laughed a little at himself, at how ridiculous this all was. But he knew why it was so much more intense than it needed to be.

He liked Taron too much in general.

* * *

v._ (of course i still like you) _

Taron looked a bit dishevelled as he stepped into Richard's trailer, as though he had run all the way there. And judging by the slightly winded way in which Taron said hello, Richard figured that it was likely the case. He gestured for Taron to grab a seat and had half a mind to offer him a drink before the nerves seized his tongue.

There was silence as the two men regarded one another, the air heavy with an unspoken regrets and embarrassment. Richard's initial confidence in requesting an apology had faded upon seeing Taron, his earlier aggravation melting into a silly sort of fondness for his castmate, who was already looking adequately contrite as he fidgeted with some unseen loose thread on his jacket.

It was Taron who broke the quiet by clearing his throat. "So, I've been a right fucking prick, haven't I."

Richard gave a noncommittal half-shrug accompanied by a faint grimace. "Well, you haven't been at your most charming, no. But I get it. I do."

Taron seemed to cringe a little at that. "Ahh, doesn't make it right," he said. "Listen, I'm sorry mate. I don't have an excuse. I've just been letting it get to me, and I shouldn't be taking it out on you."

"It's been demanding," Richard admitted. "For me too, believe it or not." Even if he didn't find himself as emotionally immersed as Taron in his role, there was no denying that this particular film had been a taxing experience overall. 

And the acting was only part of the trouble.

Richard leaned against the counter, standing opposite to Taron and his chagrined expression. He gripped the countertop to prevent himself from reaching over to Taron and doing something cheesy and foolish, like clapping his shoulder or some other such nonsense.

"You're fine," Richard went on. "I'd just rather not have us coming out of this hating each other."

"Impossible," Taron said immediately, and his tone was so earnest that Richard felt his heart skip. "I mean, if you tell me to piss off for acting like a drama queen, I'd understand, but --"

"Now don't say that," Richard interrupted. That was the last thing he wanted, but saying so to Taron felt too mushy, even in their current situation. Still, the thought of losing Taron somehow, especially over something so silly as periodic bickering, was preposterous. And unsettling in a way that Richard still had yet to figure out.

He couldn't shake the notion that his anxieties reminded him of trying to preserve a relationship on the rocks. But of course there was nothing more to his and Taron's bond than professional chemistry and personal camaraderie, in spite of Richard's undeniable soft spot for his castmate. In solitary moments, usually in the minutes before falling asleep, he would wonder to himself if there was anything worth considering about how much Taron consumed his mind on a regular basis, but he never allowed himself enough time to bring those thoughts to life.

Even now, with Taron eyeing him with a quiet sort of hopeful affection that made something in Richard's chest flip over in a strange way, Richard didn't dare give a voice to his feelings. Not now. This was all complicated enough, and there was no reason to make it any worse with uncalled-for professions.

"Don't hate me, then?" Taron asked, with an embarrassed smile that revealed how difficult it was for him to say it, even in a joking tone.

"Of course I still like you," Richard said, though upon realising that his imbalanced response was more telling than desired, he appended with a quick "you great idiot." 

"You always know what to say." Taron's grin looked a bit more at ease now. "How about that drink?"

"Right to brass tacks with you, isn't it," Richard said. His accompanying laughter felt real, like being able to breathe again. "I think you'll owe me one next time."

"Only for you, Dickie."

Richard scoffed as he poured Taron a drink, but his pulse had quickened. As was the usual, they had fallen into step again as though nothing had happened... like it was all so easy, so natural. And Richard couldn't determine exactly what that meant for him.

Realistically, he knew it was nothing. Because anything else would involve talking to Taron about any of it, and that was so absurd that he couldn't even begin to imagine bringing it up. Instead he bit the inside of his lip, arranged his face into a convincing smile, and handed the glass off to Taron, hating the way his skin seemed to tingle where Taron's fingers brushed against his.

For a terrifying second, Richard considered the very real idea of getting drunk - very, extremely drunk - and allowing himself to run his mouth to Taron, just to see what would happen. At least then he would have the liquor as an excuse.

But Taron, damn him - Taron was looking up with those shining eyes of his, seemingly innocent (though Richard knew better, because while he was outwardly reserved at times, he could always count upon Taron to be his partner in crime to any foolhardy ideas - like drinking heavily the day before a big shoot, for example). There was trust in that gaze, and the depth of that responsibility was enough to shake any of Richard's wanton urges. He could stay his tongue for the sake of their friendship. The gamble just wasn't worth it.

It didn't matter how much he liked Taron. That they were friends would have to be enough.

* * *

vi. ( )

Richard blinked the lingering halo of the flash photography from his eyes and let his mouth drop out of its curated grin as he stepped away from the press area. A drink would be necessary - champagne if that was all they had, but ideally something stronger if he could find it - and he set off in immediate search of refreshments before he could be pulled into another photo op or, god forbid, a congratulatory conversation.

He knew it was pissy of him to be balking at people's kind words, especially when he was genuinely proud of what they had made. It wasn't even the fault of the milling masses who kept trying to hail him; on any other occasion, he would have been revelling in the shared joy of completing the film and having its reception go over swimmingly. Instead he was stuck in a moody pit of his own, all thanks to some petty nonsense that he hadn't even wanted to let bother him. Easier said than done, of course.

Only once a glass replete with whiskey was in hand did Richard dare look back to the press area, in which Taron was still trapped by a sea of cameras and microphones. In contrast to Richard, Taron looked to be over the moon, with his mother on one arm and his girlfriend on the other. Richard watched as Taron pressed kisses to each of his companions' faces, noting with some level of brooding annoyance that the gesture toward Emily lingered a beat longer than the other. Emily and Taron's mum looked a bit uncertain with all of the media attention pointed their way, but Taron's radiant enthusiasm was more than enough to dispel any tension.

On their part, in any case. Richard sipped at his drink and turned his eyes away. He knew he wouldn't be able to stand the sight for much longer.

The envy broiling in his chest was a loathsome feeling, fully unwelcome but well tended ever since Taron had let it slip that he and Emily had reconnected. Of course Taron had been pleased and eager to share; why wouldn't he be? Emily was lovely, and he clearly cared for her a lot. Richard had strived to sound just as happy for his castmate's good fortune, but he had found it difficult to summon anything more supportive than a simple "Oh, good to hear." Perhaps Taron had registered something amiss about Richard's lacklustre reply, as he hadn't mentioned Emily more than in passing since breaking the news. 

The unspoken discomfort gave Richard pause; it wasn’t Taron’s problem that Richard had come to certain conclusions over time.

But hearing about their relationship, unexpectedly bothersome though it was, had been a different experience than seeing the two of them acting like a happy couple right in front of Richard's nose. One he could almost ignore. This... less so.

More than anything, though, Richard felt ashamed of himself. There was no cause for him to be bitter - no reason for him to judge either Taron or Emily for finding happiness with one another once more - and realistically, he was glad to see Taron enjoying himself. It wasn't Taron's fault that Richard had taken too long to admit to himself that there was more going on than friendly affection on his part. And even when Richard had finally swallowed that pill, it wasn't as though he had done anything about it. The thought of bringing it up had been nothing short of ridiculous, enough to wake Richard in a cold sweat if he even dreamt of the idea of letting Taron know what he was thinking.

Richard's gaze drifted involuntarily back to Taron, who was still posing for photos. Between shots, he would look at Emily, the unguarded affection in his eyes visible even from Richard's standpoint. Richard felt guilt mingle with the envy, and he tried to wash both down with the rest of the whiskey, though he knew it would take more than a shot or two to deal with his current mental state.

He was so immersed in his ruminations that he nearly jumped at the sensation of someone placing a hand on his shoulder; whipping around, Richard found himself face to face with the man indirectly responsible for this whole debacle.

It seemed odd that someone like Elton would be able to sneak up on anyone so easily, given that he was wearing one of his many spectacular - and considerably _ not _ subtle - Gucci suits, but he had managed to do so while Richard was otherwise absorbed. Elton kept his hand to Richard's shoulder and leaned in conspiratorially.

"Been there," he told Richard. "You'll be alright."

Richard was so taken aback that he was a moment in finding the words to reply. He hadn't spoken to Elton a great deal over the course of filming; the great man was often busy with his myriad other endeavours, and it seemed as though most of his time on set had been spent conversing with Taron about the role. Richard had always admired the humble ease with which Taron had navigated his relationship with such a figure, as Richard himself was still a bit stuck in the starstruck idolatry stage. Being approached by Elton in the middle of the press event was a surprise to begin with, and if he was saying what Richard thought he was saying, then things had become even more bizarre.

"I beg your pardon?" Richard managed after a few painful seconds of fumbling.

A mischievous smirk lit the corners of Elton's mouth. "Darling, you're easy to read. At least, to me you are. But maybe that's because I've been in your shoes."

"My shoes are too plain for your tastes, I think," Richard replied, though the joke fell flat with his shaky delivery. Taking a breath, he turned back to watch Taron, hoping his face wasn't as wistful as he felt. "Am I that obvious?"

"Well... perhaps not to him." Elton patted Richard's shoulder. "Like I said, you'll be alright. These things get better over time, miserable though they are in the moment."

"I hope you're right." Richard felt something in his chest unknot, just a little. He glanced back to Elton and gave his best attempt at a wry smile. "I mean, if I knew what you were talking about, of course."

Elton tipped him a wink. "Try to enjoy yourself, love. You have plenty to celebrate tonight." With another quick pat on the shoulder, Elton strode away, only to be snatched up within moments for further congratulations.

Shaken up though he still was by the brief yet intense encounter, Richard felt fractionally more at ease. It was no less difficult to watch Taron with Emily, with Richard wondering for the thousandth time if things might have played out differently if he had decided to say something to Taron instead of maintaining a stoic silence, but he sensed he had made the right choice… much as he was reluctant to admit it.

Elton was right. Of anyone, he would probably know more about these situations than Richard ever would. Richard acknowledged the somewhat bitter irony of the man that Taron played being the one to comfort him in his time of crisis, but given that it would never be Taron himself, it was the best possible substitute. If anything, Richard was still dumbstruck that it was _ Elton John _ of all people who had given him advice. These were strange times.

Richard considered another drink, but he decided not to push his luck. Reckless inebriation would do nothing to help him on the way to getting over… whatever this was. He was going to have to shelve his pride and deal with it, if only for Taron’s sake.

Richard did like Taron, after all. Taron would never know quite how much, but that was going to have to be okay. And it would be. Someday.


End file.
